Phoebe Kate

In February 2000, I flew from Syracuse NY to Portland OR because my father was dying.  I had to change planes in Seattle.  This was pre-9/11 and security procedures were pretty much perfunctory: dump the change in your pockets and your keys, take off your watch and walk through the metal-detecting portal.

I set off the alarms.  The guard told me to walk through again.  I asked if he wanted me to take off my jewelry.  He said no, it wasn’t enough to trip the trigger.  I went through.  The bells and whistles went off again.  And I suddenly found myself looking down the barrels of four guns pointed right at me.  Security police had appeared out of nowhere and surrounded me.

They told me to put up my hands.  I didn’t — I held out my arms to them and said, “It’s the jewelry — please let me take it off and try again.”  I had on four rings and two bracelets as well as a necklace and earrings.  They informed me if I didn’t put my hands up, they would shoot.  I complied.  They talked about getting a female officer to take me somewhere and do a body search.  “It’s the jewelry!” I kept saying, but they weren’t paying any attention.

However, everybody else at that checkpoint was.  Initially, when the guns got pulled, fellow travelers jumped back.  Now they clustered around, staring at The Wanted Woman, trying to figure out what my crime was.  “Drug smuggler,” I heard someone nearby opine.   

Probably only five minutes had elapsed, but everybody started getting agitated about missing their connections.  So did I.  “My father’s dying!” I kept telling the guards.  “Let me take the jewelry off!”  An irritated voice from the crowd rhetorically asked, “Why don’t they just do something instead of holding everybody else up?”  

There being no female officer to take charge of me, the authorities let me do what I asked.  Sans the bling, I rang no bells, of course, but they nonetheless insisted on dumping out the contents of my carry-on luggage and purse for a lengthy search.  Passengers walked by and glowered at me.  As I shoved my belongings back into my bags, I asked a guard, “Why did you pull guns on me just for setting off the alarm?”  He shrugged and said, “You sort of matched the description of someone wanted by the FBI.”

I am of a white female of average height, light skin, blonde, brown-eyed, middle-aged, well-dressed, well-spoken.  How many thousands of women does that describe?

I understand the inherent problems with stereotyping and the indignation felt by those who are objects of it.  But the reality is that we can all be racially profiled, given the right set of circumstances.  It’s the price we pay for living in a pluralistic society where some people who look “sort of like us” aren’t as nice as we are.

–phoebe kate                        

Just learned today that a remarkable celebrity passed away recently.  He was the star of television programs, news features and countless articles.  He died well before his time and his loss is perhaps inestimable to his community – and to the world in ways they’ll never know and probably wouldn’t care about anyway.     

Alex, the extraordinarily intelligent African Grey Parrot, died on 9/6/07 at Brandeis University.  He’d been the major focus of a long-term avian learning project conducted by his owner, animal psychologist Dr. Irene Pepperberg.  Alex was 31; his species usually have life spans of 50+ years.  You can read all about him here.

Maybe Alex was a fluke, a freak of nature, an avian genius.  Or maybe we underestimate the ability of other species to function and interrelate with humans on levels we aren’t accustomed to and don’t expect.   

Jane Goodall with her chimpanzees, Dian Fossey with her gorillas, Birute Goldikas with her orangutans and others have experienced this first-hand.  On a less grand level, many of us have owned pets of all different kinds who transcended the limitations we’ve been led to believe that they have and amazed us with their abilities.

Our society in general has a strange and dichotimized attitude toward animals.  On one hand, it abuses them, ignores them, neglects them, inhumanely uses them without conscience.   On the other hand, it sentimentalizes them, anthropomorphizes them and turns some of them into living fashion accessories by toting them around in designer purses.   

What we don’t do is respect them, relate to them in ways they understand and give them the chance to learn to relate to us in ways we understand.  They’re not objects.  They’re creatures, just like us, and we have more in common than we dare to imagine.

–phoebe kate       

When I’m not writing stories and poems, I review books for Pop Matters, an online magazine of global culture.  I’ve worked for them for about 5 years now and discovered just how much crap there is out there published under the loosey-goosey guise of ‘literary fiction.’ 

Although I’ve reviewed more than my share of not-so-great books, I always tried to find something positive to say about them.  As a writer, I know the time and effort that goes into a novel.  I try to look at it objectively — everything isn’t my taste, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad book — I’m just not the target audience.  And I believe my editors at Pop Matters can attest to my magnanimity in dealing with flawed creative efforts.  

Until now…when I finally ran into a book I couldn’t say a good thing about, no matter how hard I tried.  It was awful.  I can’t imagine who the target audience would be, but should they exist, I don’t ever want to know them.  

You can read all about this literary debacle here.

–phoebe kate   

It was a disappointing starlet strut last night.  So many big name designers represented, so few distinctive styles.  Countless strapless numbers and necklines plunging to the navel that all looked pretty much alike.

The jewelry was even more disappointing.  Hundreds of virtually identical pairs of shoulder-dusting linear earrings — haven’t they passed out vogue yet?  (May they do so soon.)  Acres of bare chest as far as the eye could see and nary a necklace to adorn them.  Decollete dresses cry out for something to fill in that exposed skin with some sparkle.  Remember the magnificent draping collars of gemstones worn by Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s?  Or Eva Marie Saint’s stunning ruby necklace in North by Northwest?  A couple of Red Carpet interviewees pointed out their diamond cuffs and cocktail rings from Cartier and the like, but no matter how large the pieces are, they just don’t show up well on TV.

I’m surprised at the lack of originality and flair in high-end fashion.  Haute couteur, it seems, has turned into an uniform and not a very interesting one.  Like Goldie Hawn asked the drill sergeant about her fatigues in Private Benjamin, ”Does this come in any other colors?”  Except for that minor difference, the glitterati last night might just as well have been wearing the same dress.

The only moment that made the Red Carpet foo-fer-all worth watching was a remark made by Robert Duvall about Buenes Aires.  “It’s a terrific city, very friendly,” he said.  “By the time they stop kissing everybody, it’s time for lunch.”

Gotta love it.

–phoebe kate

Anybody who knows me has heard me opine countless times that many TV commercials are more entertaining and creative than the shows they sponsor.

Liberty Mutual Insurance’s  elegantly produced ad tops the list.  Then there’s the current Kia Rondo commercial — you gotta love “giddyupidness, safety overall-ness, huge cabinocity and precision steerology.”  (I have a serious weakness for writers who make up words because I do it all the time.)  And how about the Sonic spots?  With the couple in a car engaging in some wry marital verbal sparring as they enjoy the fast food place’s treats?  Or the McCormick ad with the little boy affecting a French accent as he pretends to be a waiter?  “Pepper, madam?” he asks his befuddled baby sister sitting in a high chair with a few green peas scattered on her tray.

The cavemen in the Geico car insurance ads really amuse me.  They are a form of absurdist commercial art that have become pop culture icons.  Some of the intelligentsia see this catchy marketing campaign as a backlash against political correctness.  Hey, lighten up, guys.  It’s just a TV ad, it’s funny and nobody else takes it anywhere near as seriously as you.  We’re all laughable, no matter what ‘group’ we belong to, and we should be grown up enough to understand that.

On October 2nd, the TV show “Cavemen,” based on the commercial, will debut on ABC and I’ll definitely be watching.  Unfortunately, “so easy that a caveman can do it” doesn’t apply to sitcom casting.  Jeff Daniel Phillips and Ben Weber, the gifted actors who originated the Geico cavemen roles, haven’t been included.  But that’s Hollywood for you, isn’t it?

–phoebe kate